


Dragon Mates Club

by bjjones



Series: Dragons of Interest [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed, Castle, Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011), Person of Interest (TV), Suits - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Dragons, F/M, M/M, Multiple Crossovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 11:00:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7530070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjjones/pseuds/bjjones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harold was still getting used to the whole concept of being Mated to a Dragon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dragon Mates Club

**Author's Note:**

> This is part two in the Series: Dragons of Interest - I would highly recommend reading the first before diving into this one.
> 
> Thank You to my partner for continuing to feed the bunny and always being my Creative Consultant
> 
> Beta: Lynn in some worlds - I know her as Dr. Janet

Art by: [Taibhrigh](http://archiveofourown.org/users/taibhrigh/pseuds/taibhrigh)

***

Harold sat on one of the park benches, watching Bear as he played with the other dogs.  He couldn't help the smile that formed on his face at the canine's antics.  John had been right when he'd kicked them out of the library, stating they needed fresh air and a break.

Since he had given John his 'Dragon Room', they had been working nonstop on the Numbers.

It was as if something was riling up New Yorkers.

Well, more than normal.

He pulled out his phone and checked a few systems, prepping to send John information on their latest person of interest, when he felt someone sit down next to him.

"Ms. Aveline," he stated, glancing sideways at her for only a moment, before finishing up what he was doing and powering down the device.

"No worries, Harold."  She bumped him with her shoulder lightly, giving him a most sincere smile.  "John told me where you were.  I haven't been following you around."  She paused giving him a wicked smile.  "Well, at least not today."

"We'll have a discussion later, Mr. Reese."

'Harold, it's good for you to have friends outside of Bear.'  John's teasing voice came over the earwig he almost never went anywhere without.  'Besides, you wouldn't have known she was following you, if it wasn't for our friend.'

"Connor and I need to get some of your tech!  It would make planning multiple kills so much easier."  She gave him a wink, enjoying teasing the older man.  "Tell John, goodbye.  This is an official Dragon Mate Club meeting, and Dragons aren't allowed."

'Have fun, Finch.'

Harold kept his face neutral as he shifted slightly to take in the remarkably elegant woman beside him.  Aveline was truly beautiful.  She held herself with a sense of deadly grace that he could certainly admire, and she wore clothes that both accented and enticed, yet were still forgettable at any given moment.  She wore her long dark hair, plaited down her back, and an oversize pair of sunglasses obstructed any clear view of her face.

He hadn't had the chance to talk with her when they'd first met a few months ago, though naturally he had been curious about that Brotherhood comment, wondering what she and John had been involved in.  It was obvious that Connor and Aveline were a well matched pair of deadly creatures, who lived by a code outside the reality of Dragons.  He was quite proud that it had only taken him a week to get the necessary information out of John, and it made him smirk to himself at how he had finally cracked his highly skilled CIA Trained Dragon.  Sex and a shiny new weapon were all it took.  Though he had the feeling his Mate had been willing to tell him from the beginning, but still played along with the game.

It had taken another two weeks for him to find any kind of digital footprint for the Brotherhood.  

The Machine had found rumors, stories, legends, much like the information it had turned up on the Dragons.  But it still needed context to figure out truth from myth.

_'Nothing is True.  Everything is Permitted.'_

He had stared at John for a few seconds after he'd said that - the former government agent finally admitting it was the Brotherhood's Motto.   Finch had grumbled and turned back to his computers.

It meant every myth was likely truth, and every truth a myth.

The only documented historical reference he found was deep in the Vatican Archives about an Ezio Auditore, working with Julius II to build the Swiss Guard.  It was a note of a note of a notation, on the reference page of a Papal document that had commented on a certain symbol worn by Signore Auditore.

When the Machine referenced the symbol, it promptly popped up all around the world.

Yet Harold couldn't verify if the symbol was actually that of the Brotherhood itself.

And John was being mute.

Which rather left him intrigued, frustrated, and in awe of how paranoid they all were.

He liked that in a secret organization responsible for killing people.

It was during his research, that he began to feel a prickly sensation on the back of his neck anytime he was outside the library.  It felt much like he had gotten when John ordered Fusco to follow him around.  But anytime he looked he couldn't see either the detective _or_ Mr. Reese.

Which left him with the Machine at his disposal.

John had been good at staying hidden.  Lionel, not so much.   Besides there was no reason for anyone to follow him anymore, given that had Reese discovered mostly everything.   They both knew Harold hadn't told him _all_ his secrets, but his Dragon didn't push.

Still, it hadn't stopped Harold from accusing his Mate of trying something.

'I'm not following you.'  John took the biting incrimination with an ease that Harold had associated with the Dragon right from the start of their relationship.  'It's pretty obvious, though you've trusted me with a few of your secrets, you haven't exactly told me everything, Finch.'  He gave him a soft smile, eyes crinkling slightly, making Harold relax instantly.  'I don't need to know what your real name is, or what happened to make you this paranoid.  I trust you to protect yourself and me.  Even if that means I never know.'

Harold had been stunned silent by such a declaration, and in that singular moment he honestly didn't think he could love John any more than he already did.  Whereupon he pounced his Mate, pushed him onto the couch, and proceeded to lick, suck, and tease him until he lost all his composure and screamed out Harold's name.

Repeatedly.

Finch knew full well he'd had a smug look on his face for the rest of the day.

They both did.

It was the next morning, when the Machine sent him photos of Aveline.  And suddenly it was obvious that she had been the one following him.  The reason he had never seen her was because she didn't keep to the shadows or lurk around street corners.  Instead the camera footage of her, came from rooftops and open spaces filled with people.  If the Machine hadn't pointed her out, he would never have seen her.

Harold stared in awe, realizing that unlike Mr. Castle and himself, Aveline really could hold her own with her Dragon, and with others.

He was pretty sure that Richard Castle could do damage if someone went after Detective Beckett.  He did his research, and Mr. Castle was certainly well known for protecting those he loved.  The one reporter who had gone after Castle's daughter when she was barely turned thirteen, never worked in journalism again.

He had to admire the destruction the writer had wreaked.

Harold himself could destroy someone with the single flick of a keystroke, and had.  After all, no one touched his Mate and got away with it.  He couldn't physically defend a man like John, but the amount of businesses, banking accounts, and offshore holdings he had destroyed in the name of justice, were often quite significant.

Still, neither of them could 'keep up' with their Dragon, for they both knew they were the weak spot when it came to a full-on fight.

Which was why John had been pushing for him to make friends with Castle and Aveline, trying to get Harold to have lunch with the writer, and… 

Well he wasn't quite sure what Ms. Aveline did, besides kill people.

Finch reminded Reese, that he was a very private person, and weaseled his way out of every meeting.

Until suddenly there she was.

John had kissed his forehead, handed him Bear's leash and told him to go play in the park, as he needed time away from the library to get some fresh air like normal people.

The bastard had set him up!

And Aveline was in on it.

Mr. Reese would be paying for that.

He took a deep breath, blinked a few times, and then paused as he was just about to speak.  

Wait.   

"Dragon Mate Club?" he asked curiously.

"It's a small club of us Mates, who have the unfortunate blessing of being Mated to one of the lizards."  She reached over and patted his knee.  "It's not an easy life."

"I'm not finding it that difficult."  He kept his tone as neutral as his expression.

Aveline studied him for a few moments, then nodded.  "I'm actually not surprised you're adjusting better than most.  Castle only freaked out over how to _care_ for Beckett.  He never actually freaked out over the Dragon part."

"And you?"

She huffed softly.  "I was born in New Orleans, to a white Plantation owner and a slave mother.  I lived in two worlds even _before_ I met Connor."

"Do you mind me asking when you were born?"

"1774."

Harold blinked at that particular information, before shifting to look back out across the park.  He took a moment to find Bear, only to see him playing with Connor.

"He can't hear us," she stated easily, sensing Harold's discomfort.  "He respects your privacy as much as mine.  He's just being a protective Dragon."

"Of you or me?"  Harold watched as Connor laughed and fell to the ground with about half a dozen dogs climbing all over him.  He couldn't help the small smile that formed on his face.

"Both, but mostly you," Aveline answered honestly.  "You seem like a man who likes information, and _doesn't_ like it when he doesn't have it."

"You're very astute Ms. Aveline."  He focused back on her, knowing that the two of them did indeed have things to talk about.

"Come on, I'll buy you a tea."  She motioned to a cart further down the path near the overhead lights.  "Connor will take care of Bear."

Before he could even comment, Bear broke away from the pack and ran to his Master.  The dog stopped on a dime, suddenly alert, having noticed there was a stranger getting too close for comfort.  Finch gave him the command to stand down, and he shifted slightly, then sat next to his legs, tongue lolling out.

"Or we could just take him too."  Aveline held out her hand, letting the dog register her as a friend.  She smiled when Bear gave her a lick, then head butted her palm, seeking pets.

"Traitor," Harold muttered, as he clipped the leash to his dog's collar.

"He smells Connor."  Aveline stood up, taking a few steps back in order to act as a screen as Harold rose.  He realized instantly she was blocking anyone's view of him, while assessing the area to make sure no one was watching.  "Dogs can sense the Dragon."

He looked down at his guardian.  "We won't discuss Bear's obsession with the _How to Train Your Dragon_ series."

"Oh, then we should get Hiccup and Astrid to come visit New York."  She grinned.  "Bear can meet them!"

"That… "  He rubbed the faithful animal's ears, steady on his feet with the dog's solid form against his bad hip.  "That would be a real treat for him."

She took his arm, easing her gait to keep pace with him.  "Dragon Mate Club.  We meet monthly for lunch, and bitch about the annoying lizards.  Castle wanted jackets, but that rather defeated the 'super-secret' part of the whole thing."

Harold admired the way she maneuvered them through the park, keeping him protected with apparent ease.  "And what, exactly, is discussed at these top secret in broad daylight meetings?"

"Care and feeding of Dragons," she smirked.  "Sometimes you need that one person who can totally understand the need to rant."  She stepped away from him, ordered a Sencha Green Tea with one sugar, and a Chai Latte for herself.

After their drinks were bought and paid for, they continued their journey through the park.  "If you don't mind a personal question, Ms. Aveline?"

"I'm an open 'coded' book."  She gave Harold a wink before sipping her Chai.

"What exactly _do_ you _do_?" he asked, stopping at a bench near the far end of the main path.  He sat down Bear next to him in reassurance.

The dog's ears stayed up, alert and watching.

Aveline settled on his other side, taking another sip before she answered.  "I provide justice."

"Whose?" he asked, frowning slightly.

She admired such a question.  "Sometime that's not as easy concept to grasp."

Harold paused as he gathered his own thoughts.  "I'm not naïve enough to believe that justice is always served for the greater good.  History has shown that there always needs to be someone working in the shadows."

"We don't take contract killings.  We also don't work for anyone, or any given entity."  Her steady gaze casually scanned the area, making sure no one was milling around too close to overhear.  "We don't work for the highest bidder.  We don't work for a government or ruling body.  We make sure justice is served.  That is all.  Not everyone would agree with the _type_ of justice that entails, but it _is_ justice."

"I have found severely limited information about the Brotherhood," Harold admitted, although not easily.  "And I assure you, Ms. Aveline, I'm very _good_ with computers."

"We can't do our job if people know we exist."  She gave him a soft smile that was remarkably encouraging.  "I'm sure Altair will be quite pleased nothing of any substance was found in your searching."

"He is the head of your organization I assume?"

"Why the questions?"  She deflected the moment easily enough.

"When we met, you stated quite clearly that you wished John would allow the Brotherhood to recruit him."  Harold took a few more sips of his tea.  "I want to know what kind of people would try to make John an assassin, when it's obvious he's not one."

"Yet he works for you."  Aveline shifted in her seat, giving him a pointed look.  "You send him out to kill."

"I do not!"  He snapped at her, and his reaction was startling in its vehemence, requiring a few calm breaths before he could get his emotions back under control.  Bear whined, laying his head on Harold's knee, where he was petted.  "I give John a purpose."

"And you don't think _we_ would?" she challenged, undisturbed by his outburst.  "The Brotherhood is _not_ the CIA.  We don't take out targets and assets to overthrow a government for drilling rights.  We don't take out one dictator to put in another.  We don't take out 'traitors' to the 'American Way'.  We do not destroy villages, or peoples because of their religion."

"Yet you kill indiscriminately."

"Do you send him out on one of your 'jobs' without Intel?"  She sipped her drink, relaxing her stance that it might better get Harold to calm down.  The last thing she needed was to send an irate Mate back to their biggest local Dragon.

"He has the _finest_ Intel."  He frowned, not sure what she was asking.

"Is it ever _wrong_?"

"To err is _human_."  And The Machine was _never_ wrong, but there were times when his own interpretations were, and their apparent victim had turned out to be the perpetrator.

"The Creed we live by has three rules:  First, stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent.  Second, hide in plain sight, be one with the crowd.  Third, never compromise the Brotherhood."

By telling him, she was in _theory_ compromising the Brotherhood, and neither of them failed to recognize that particular problem.  

"Well the second one explains why I could never see you while I was being followed."

She laughed lightly.  "I've had a lot of years to learn how to blend."  With a deep breath, she laid her hand on Harold's arm.  "We never wanted John to be an Assassin.  He's not very good at the sneaky, stabby part of the job."

"Stealth is not his forte."  Harold had to agree, for John was a great many other things that were noteworthy.

"To do our jobs we rely on good Intel."  She gave him a smile.  "John is a damn good spy.  If Snow or Stanton were alive, Connor and I would've personally taken care of them for the damage they did to him.  One of the reasons we came to New York, was to specifically check up on him.  Altair was worried about him after he contacted us about a Dragon working for terrorists.  The Brotherhood worked in liaison with him during World War Two, Harold.  John provided almost all of our Intel back then."  She paused for a moment, allowing chance for reflection on times past.  "When Altair met with John in Istanbul, to trade information, the man who stood before him was not the one who once worked tirelessly during the War.  Altair found a dullness in John's eyes, where even the Dragon wasn't shining through.  It worried him enough that he contacted Connor.  But by that time, John had disappeared.  Six months later, rumors of a Man in a Suit started circulating in New York."  She gave him a long hard look over her glasses.

"Don't ask."

"Well, a good Assassin knows when that's preferable."  She slid closer and took his arm.  "Still want your tech though."

Harold knew that one was coming.  "It could be arranged."

She sipped her Chai Latte.  "You're good for him."

"I don't deserve him," he admitted, in a rare moment of openness.

**~ A Month Later ~**

Castle ordered his usual sandwich, and sipped his ice tea, contemplating the text message he had received from Harold.  

He hadn't talked all that much with the unassuming business man, only briefly chatting a few times over the past few months about meat markets, and that all essential but very awkward conversation about 'Dragon Bathrooms'.

Richard chuckled lightly to himself.  _That_ had been an interesting discovery in the first few months of dealing with Dragon Kate.  As he had told Harold, 'You know your Mated to a Dragon when you can have a poop discussion without too much embarrassment.'

But there was a perfectly good reason why the New York Zoo had a thriving fertilizer business.

He smiled at the waitress as she refilled his drink, asking if he was still waiting for his guest.  Which was precisely when Harold slid into the seat across from him, ordered a Sencha Green Tea, and abruptly dismissed her.

Richard blinked at the ruffled, jittery man.  

The Harold Finch he had gotten to know, was calm, cool, and collected.  The very epitome of rational.  _That_ Harold Finch had a poker face sufficient to make Castle cry with envy.

"What happened?" he asked concerned.  "Do I need to call Aveline?"

"I'm already here."  She grabbed a seat from a nearby empty table, and sat down.  "I got your text.  What's going on?"

"What happens if you lose some of your Dragon's stash?" Harold asked, downing some of the water that Castle had already ordered with his meal.

"Oh!  No!"  Richard stared at him in shock.  "You didn't!  Did you?"

"Tell me you didn't touch Reese's weapons."  Aveline whistled low.  "This is not good."

"I was organizing all of his stashes into one location."  He leaned forward, whispering loud enough for them to hear.  "I found a warehouse to store all of it, including the damn tank.  Who in their right mind owns a tank!?"  He shook his head.  "It was a simple transfer of goods."

"He still has the tank?" Aveline smirked.  "Man, that thing did some _damage_ in World War Two…"  She paused at Harold's cold expression.  "Sorry.  Old memories there."

"What went wrong?"  Richard focused back on Harold.  "And is there anything we can do?"

"All of it arrived fine, except one shipment."  He stopped as the waitress put down a cup of hot water and some teabags.  He looked down at the generic green tea in utter disgust, and was about ready to read her the riot act, when Aveline placed a different, neatly wrapped teabag in front of him instead.  Harold looked up at her with a questioning tilt of the head.

"John gave us a box.  Said to carry a few with us at all times."  She winked at him, patting his arm.

"Bless you."  He fixed his tea and sipped it, sighing appreciatively.  "The last shipment was lost.  Disappeared.  Nowhere to be found."

"Oh!!  My!!!!  God!!!!!"  Castle leaned back in his chair.  "How much of his stash are we talking?"

"The smallest one.  But of course it was the one that had the knife his father had carried in the Revolutionary War."  Harold set down the cup, trying to settle his nerves.  "They couldn't lose the Tank?  No, they had to lose the one shipment with an irreplaceable weapon that holds sentimental value!"

Richard cringed.  "I lost Kate's rare first Bic pen.  The European one, not the American.  And yes I do know more about the origin of Bic pens that I ever thought I would.  I'd thought it was just a cheap pen.  It's a Bic, right?  I grabbed it without thinking.  I might point out this was in the first few months of being Mated.  I did some shopping, errands, ended the night having with dinner with mom."  He paused as the memories washed over him, not all of them good.  "I came home, and she was fuming.  Pissed as hell.  Screaming at me about touching her stash.  I was like, it's a Bic!  I can buy her a box of them!  Hell, a crate full!  But no, it was the _first_ Bic pen.  Ever made!  I patted my jacket down, and it was gone."

"And?" Harold asked, weirdly more intrigued than he knew he ought to have been on such a mundane topic.

"She kicked me out of my house."  He shook his head, snorting slightly.  "I went to my mother's place, dug through her purse and her entire apartment, taking all the pens I could find.  I returned home the next morning with coffee and a huge bag of pens.  She took the coffee and bag, then slammed the door in my face.  Ten minutes later she opened the door, handed me the bag of pens back, minus a few that she liked, and told me it wasn't in there."

Aveline snorted softly.

Even Harold chuckled.

"I followed every step I made, until finally I ended up back at the restaurant.  Let's just say they weren't thrilled with me demanding every single pen they had.  The police may have been called actually.  Lucky it was Esposito who showed up, and clearly understood my personal pain.  He had taken a pen from her desk one time and chewed on it.  He still has the scar."  Richard smirked, but he wasn't joking.  "He escorted me out, and we waited until they closed up.  Then we broke into the place and stole every pen we could."

"Did you find it?"  Aveline asked, grinning fiercely.

He nodded.   "Finally!  She took it back, put it in her catalog, and then slammed the door in my face again.  It took another two days, and me naked covered in Bic pens to get her to notice.  Remember that movie _American Beauty_ , with the rose petals on the bed?  Yeah, _that_ , but with pens."

"And image I didn't need."  The Assassin laughed lightly.  "Well at least you found it.  Let me tell you about the Feather Disasters of 1925.  Connor first kept most of his stash at a barn, then moved it into a more secure warehouse.  It's now stored in a secured _vault_.  His personal favorites, or ones that hold dear memories, are in a keepsake box.  An Archival Keepsake Box, I might add.  And yes, I have taken classes from the Smithsonian and a variety of National History Museums, to learn how to take care of his feathers."

Castle sipped his ice tea, enjoying the story.  It was good to know he wasn't the only Mate to screw things up with a Dragon.

She reached over, grabbed Richard's water glass, and took a few gulps.  "Anyway, I was checking on the stash, when I kicked over one of the boxes by mistake, and discovered fleas."

"Oh!  Dear God."  Harold shivered at the very thought.

"The disadvantage of having a Dragon who hoards biological items."  She rolled her eyes.  "Well, naturally I screeched and tossed it to the side, and screeched some more when more bugs poured out of it.  I discovered two other boxes were infected too, and after that it just _had_ to be done," Aveline stated with passion.  "They had to be destroyed before the whole collection was finished."

"Oh, no!"  Castle's eyes grew wide, knowing where this was going.

"So I burned the three boxes."  She gave them a look when both Mates cringed.  " _That_ wasn't the problem.  No, the nightmare began when my nice little fire spread to the rest of the collection, taking out five other boxfuls, and a sixth was then destroyed due to me dumping water on it to stop the whole mess."

The two men stared at her in horror.

"For the first time in my life, since my mother died, I sat on the floor and cried.  I didn't even cry during the damn Civil War!"  She shook her head in disgust.  "Connor was so pissed.  He tried to hide it, since he knew I didn't do it on purpose, and agreed that the ones infected had to be destroyed.  He was mostly pissed that I wasn't paying attention and let the fire spread, and considering what we do..."  She shrugged.  "It was a big mistake on my part."

"What did you do then?" Harold asked.  "I mean to make up for it."

"I found a more secure warehouse, moved the collection, and then organized and helped catalog all of them.  _ALL OF THEM_!"  She groaned.  "You have no idea how many he has!"

"2043 pens."

"5893 feathers."

They looked at Harold.

"754 different types of guns, new and historical.  1754 daggers, knives, swords or assorted other blades.  A dozen rocket launchers.  10 crates of grenades, all types.  3 crates of land mines.  2 ground-to-air missiles.  Tens of thousands of bullets.  And 1 Tank."  Harold sighed deeply.  "At least from the caches I found in New York.  I'm pretty sure he has an armory at the ranch."

"Does he still have the helicopter, or is that in Italy?"

"Seriously?"  Harold gaped at her in shock.

"Kidding!"  Aveline grinned, making him wonder whether she _was_ really kidding or not.  "It was lucky that Father Nicholas sent me feathers to help pad out the collection for Connor."

"Wait?  Father Nicholas?" Castle asked, sensing something of a twist to the tale.  "As in a Priest?  Is he a Dragon too?"

"He works for the Vatican," she answered, then chuckled wickedly.  "You know when that blowhard commented how the Vatican would be asking him for help if it was ever attacked by ISIS?"

Both men rolled their eyes.  It had been all over the newspapers.

"He doesn't need to worry about the security of the Vatican."  Aveline winked.  "Not only are the Swiss Guard one of the world's fiercest groups of loyal soldiers, they're organized and overseen by the Vatican's personal Dragon."

"Father Nicholas?"  Harold asked, taking mental notes to see if he could dig up more information later.

"Nicholas is a Dragon, but not the Vatican's Protector.  He's the one they send out to check on Miracles.  Think of him as a Vatican CSI, so to speak.  Now his Mate, Ernesto...  Well, he's going by Ernesto now, but at one time he was known as Ezio Auditore."

"He worked with Julius II!  Helped build the Swiss Guard."  Harold spoke up suddenly, and when he saw her raised eyebrows, he smirked.  "I did tell you, Ms. Aveline, that I am very _good_ with computers."

"Well, he's a highly skilled Dragon.  He protects the Vatican and the Pope.  Not every Pope knows about the Dragon aspect, only a select few are given that privilege."

"I'm totally envisioning a Dragon sitting in front of St. Peter's Basilica now."  Castle had a contemplative look on his face.

"Does this Father Nicholas hoard feathers too?  Do Dragons all have different hoarding tendencies?" Harold asked, confused.

"Father Nicholas hoards birds.  Not surprising considering his father hoards bugs.  So he sent me feathers from his collections.  We do _not_ discuss what happened when a German soldier destroyed his Aviary in World War Two.  Let's just say the Priestly side of him may have shown mercy, but the Dragon side brought down righteous fury from Heaven."

"And how did you get back in Connor's good graces?" Castle asked, enjoying the moment as he realized there was still so much he had to learn about Dragons.  Maybe once Alexis was settled, and Beckett needed to retire, they could travel and he could meet other Mates?

"Much like Castle, just with feathers."

"You might want to try bullets."  Richard nodded over at Harold.

"While lying on the tank," Aveline added sagely.

**~ Two Hours Later: Outside the Main Gatehouse, Rikers Island ~**

Harold pulled the car into the spot next to a high end Mercedes in the prison's parking lot.  

He had tried contacting Reese during the drive out there, but the Agent still wasn't speaking to him.  Well not on a personal level.  John was talking to him professionally while dealing with their latest Number, but any time Harold would try and bring up something else, he would politely cut him off and end the call.

He still remembered that precise moment when John had come into the library, absolutely frantic, stating that one of his caches had been emptied.   He had been ready to go after the nearest gang to get his weapons back, when Harold politely informed him that he'd actually had the caches moved to a more secure location.

He'd never seen Reese go _that_ perfectly still before.

In all the years he worked with Reese, he had not seen the CIA Agent whom Snow and Stanton had cultivated.  He'd seen John angry.  He'd watched him take on some of New York's worst criminals.  He'd been scared for him when he'd gone after Sarah Jennings' husband, with memories of Jessica foremost on his mind.  He'd been desperately worried when John had convinced Dr. Tillman to give him the keys to her van, and left with Andrew Benton in the back, not knowing what he was going to do with the sexual predator.  And he'd talked John down after they'd discovered the school teacher they worked so hard to save, was actually a criminal mastermind.

But none of those moments could possibly have prepared him for the cold, hard, CIA Agent who stood in front of him.

"John?"

"What did you just say?"

The low tone in his Mate's voice sent shivers down Harold's spine, and not in a good way.   

He'd stood from his computer desk, and taken a few small steps toward his Dragon, but stopped at the tensed shoulders and stiff neck.  

Bear sat up, ears perked, hair standing on end.  It moved next to Harold protectively, all its focus on Reese.

"I consolidated your stashes into one location."  Harold swallowed, wondering if he should've mentioned his brilliant idea _before_ he executed the plan.  "I bought a set of warehouses, and then made them disappear so no one will be able to find them again.  I've installed state of the art security, and well, as you know the Machine will watch…"

John turned and looked over his shoulder at him, making him take a reflexive step backward.  "You moved my weapons caches?"

"Yes."

"Without my permission?"

"It was a simple transfer of goods.  I'm not seeing a problem, Mr. Reese."

"The problem, Finch, is that you moved my weapons without my permission."

"John…"

The flash of the Dragon in those silver blue eyes had Harold instantly shutting up.

"I'm going to put this in the simplest terms, _Finch_."  

Harold cringed at the continued use of his surname.  

"A Dragon's hoard, their _stash_ , is the second most important thing in their life, right below their Mate."  He turned slightly, a deadly expression on his face that thoroughly bewildered and intimidated the smaller man.  "I know Carter and Fusco told you how I was when Root took you."  

Harold nodded.  It was all he could do.

"You've seen what I'll do to protect you."  

He swallowed, still nodding. 

"The only reason I'm not shredding you into strips with my claws right now, is because you are my Mate."

"Everything will be delivered in the morning," Harold explained quickly.  "It will all be organized, and we can spend the next _week_ , if need be, going through your inventory."

"Then I'll see you in the morning."  John turned and stalked out of the library without a second glance.

Harold took a deep breath, and looked down at the dog.  "You would've protected me, right?"  

Bear whined.

The next morning, he was waiting at the new location, overseeing deliveries.  He even had bagels and coffee in the car, and would call his Mate as soon as it was all set up.

Only to have his world drop out from under him.

One shipment had gone missing.

Three days later he was still looking for it, and even yelling bloody murder at The Machine to help find it.

John wasn't speaking to him, and he had slept away from his Dragon for three nights.  He was tired, miserable, and about to start destroying companies - not to mention lives -  if someone didn't give him an answer.

He sent out a few more emails and voicemails, and then forwarded John some further information he would need with regard to their latest Number.  By that time, Harold was pretty sure The Machine had made certain their Dragon was kept busy in taking out kneecaps to protect its creator.  Not that he believed John would physically hurt him, but he wasn't taking any chances.

And if all else failed?

He would dive into a crate of bullets, naked as a jaybird, if it would get his Mate's attention.

With one last email to the New York Transport Authority, he got out of the car and made his way over to the waiting man nearby.

"Well at least you're still alive."  Harvey looked him up and down.  "Never touch a Dragon's stash.  It may seem irrational, but it's part of a Dragon's DNA.  The stash must be protected at all times.  No one discusses the can opener incident of 1953.  Let's just McCarthy paid a steep price for raiding my house and having my collection confiscated."

Harold paused and stared at the other man.  "You took on McCarthy?"

"I was the lawyer for someone he went after."  Harvey shrugged it off.  "I threatened him, he threatened me, I called his bluff, he had the FBI raid my home for communist propaganda, taking my stash.  I couldn't touch him publically, so I destroyed a few of his allies who protected his political base, and assisted all those who _did_ go against him."

"By the way, can openers?  Really?"

"One would think you would've learned your lesson on dissing a Dragon's stash."  He gave the business man a pointed glare.

"Do Dragons know what other Dragons hoard?" Harold demanded.  "And does all of New York know about the missing stash?

Specter snorted.  "We're a small community.  We know everything about everyone.  John showed up at my office the other night.  We shared a good bottle of scotch.  The Dragon is pissed at you.  But the man misses you deeply."

Harold's shoulders sagged slightly.  "He can come home."

"We're stubborn, Mr. Finch."  The lawyer gave him a tight smile.  "Instincts are warring in him.  The Dragon wants retribution, the man wants his Mate.  It's safer for both of you to be apart right now.  Once he gets the Dragon more under control, or you find the missing loot, he'll crawl back into bed with you."  He paused, a wicked smirk on his face.  "And fuck you into it, just to remind you who you belong to."

"That is quite _enough_ , Mr. Specter!"  Harold gave him an indignant glare, before turning to find the prison gate opening up.

"What are we doing here?" Harvey asked, only to pause when he saw Michael walking out towards them.  "What did you _do_?"  His jaw dropped as he stared over at Harold in shock and more than a little awe.

"Harvey?"  Mike glanced between his friend and the smaller man he'd not seen before.  "What the hell is going on?  I just got a call this morning from the DA saying they were sorry for the mistaken identity."

"Mr. Ross, you are a free man, and your record is completely cleared.  All charges against you have been dropped, and as far as the State of New York is concerned they made a mistake and went after the wrong Michael Ross.  They apologize for their error, and will be making amends by the way of compensation."  Harold glanced at the two men beside him.  "As of this moment, your records indicated you graduated with a BA Degree from Harvard in Political Science, and went on to earn your Law Degree.  You passed the Bar five years ago, and worked under Harvey Specter before this whole unfortunate incident destroyed both yours and Mr. Specter's careers."

"John was totally not kidding about you."  Harvey blinked a few times, and then gave an admiring whistle.

"What does this _mean_?" Mike asked, seeking reassurance from his mentor.

"It means he owns _your_ soul, and _mine_ by extension."  The lawyer shook his head as he moved away from the car he was leaning against.  "Get in there, Mike.  We're having a long discussion on the way back to the city about you not trusting me."

"I'm sorry, Harvey."

"Oh, you'll be sorry."  He pulled him into a quick hug and held him tight.  Mike's grip was just as strong in return.  "When I said I would protect you, I _meant_ it.  I would've bribed judges if I had to."

"I didn't want anyone else to get hurt."

"You're an idiot!"  Harvey smacked the back of his head.  "But _my_ idiot.  For my sins, I think."

"Elias told me about your deal."

"Oh, that deal is so off!"  Harvey snorted at the very thought of letting that asshole get away with his crimes.

"Thank you."  Mike smiled at the older man.  "I don't know who you are, but thank you."

"You'll make a fine lawyer, Mr. Ross.  Don't screw this up."  Harold gave him a nod as the kid got in the car.

Harvey slammed the door shut.  "So what do I owe you for this, hmmm?"

"Well there _is_ this shipping company I now have the pleasure of owning."  Harold frowned.  "It will need to be re-staffed since I fired everyone, and its history needs checking into.  In the long run, owning a shipping company would not be a bad idea, especially if I'm going to have to bribe my Dragon with shiny weapons and get them _in_ to this country.  Does he really have a helicopter?"

"You're learning."  Harvey chuckled, not exactly answering the question.  "I'll get Mike working on International and Domestic shipping laws.  Anything else?"

Finch couldn't help but admire the lawyer.  From the moment he'd met Harvey Specter years ago as Mr. Partridge, he'd known the man was smart and cutthroat.  A perfect legal representative for Partridge and his financial interests.  "How well could you take on the Federal Government in future?"

"I helped write at least half its Law Codes."  Harvey snorted, trying to sound modest, and failing.  "I'll start researching the more modern ones."

Harold's phone interrupted them.  He looked down at it and frowned, before moving back over to his car to answer it.  Harvey gave him a quick wave before opening the driver’s side of his Mercedes.  When he got in, he gave Mike a glare, and they headed once more for the city.

"Detective?"  Harold was alarmed by the noises on the phone.

"I have no idea what the hell happened, but whatever you did?  Fix it!"  Carter's irate voice came over the line.

"I'm not sure I understand…"

"I thought he was bad when he was a cranky, hungry, bastard, but this, whatever this is?"  He could hear Fusco yelling in the distance.  "If you need to tie him down and fuck him into some inner calm, I'll get the rope!"

"Our sex life is not for your commentary!" Harold snapped back at her.

"He just took out a drug cartel!  Not a small section, the _whole_ damn thing.  I got more bad guys here than handcuffs, and _all_ of them need transport to the hospital!"

"That's not a good thing?"

"Finch!" she yelled.  "He's a menace!  Fix this or I..."

"Detective?" he asked, seriously concerned as the connection seemed to drop.

"I sent Carter to go deal with Fusco."  John’s voice came over the line, and Harold couldn’t help but notice how tired he sounded.  "The Number is safe."

"It would seem so.”  He paused.  "John…"

"I'll check in later, Harold."  With that the line was disconnected

Stood there in that dismal parking lot, head bowed, Mr. Finch never thought the sound of his first name would bring out so much emotion.   

With a deep breath he slid into his car just as a text message came through.

_'FOUND IT!'_

It was from The Machine.

_'Rerouting to warehouse.'_

Harold thought he just might cry from joy.

**~ Warehouse ~**

Having made completely sure the rest of the stash was secured on its shiny new shelves, Harold sent the delivery truck away with a very good tip for the driver.  The missing knife was resting in its brand new glass case, settled on an oak table, which sat behind a small leather couch.  Like the Dragon Room, he had made sure to have a living area for himself, that he had Bear could be comfortable in while Reese roamed through his inventory, or sprawled out in Dragon form.

At that precise moment though, he had left Bear with Fusco, not wanting the poor dog torn between its Alpha and its Master.

The freshly refurbished and fully stocked meat locker, was filled with more than enough food to keep his Dragon in top condition for a few weeks, and should sustain even a cranky one while verifying his stash was indeed whole and sound.

He wiped a _Swiffer_ over the glass case one last time, smiling at the gleaming knife under its perfect lighting.  

There was even a second box on a display pedestal at one of the end of the nearest row of shelves, that showcased the most intriguing 'jeweled blade' he had heard so much about.

After watching Reese barely control the Dragon from ripping his own Mate apart for messing with his stash, he had to wonder how Caffrey had survived stealing the ‘Prince of Persia’ Dagger to start with.

Irony being, that it really _was_ the 'Prince of Persia' Dagger, and not some movie prop as he had first assumed.

Harold had looked up the history of the piece, while prepping for the shipment, trying to estimate a proper insurance value, only to stare in shock at the figure he came out with.  

The Dagger was technically priceless, as it was one of a kind, and its history was filled with intrigue and myth.  It was supposedly given to an 'Assassin' for saving the Prince's life in Istanbul, sometime in the early 1500's, during the Ottoman Empire.  It had been rumored to be in Florence for a few decades, then Rome, and later The Vatican.  Harold had no idea how Reese got hold of it, but he knew besides his father's knife, that it was one of his most prized possessions.

It was also now officially insured for over $25 Million.

The whole warehouse was insured for a staggering half a billion dollars.  He was surprised how much the tank was actually worth.  There were museums across the world who would hand over their curator’s first born child, just to feast their eyes on half John's collection.

He would have to talk to him about what to do with it all if something ever happened to the two of them.  It would be wise to leave the collection to a half dozen museums and historical societies at least.

"Harold?"

Finch shook himself out of his wandering thoughts, and leaned slightly to the right to see John standing at the end of the aisle, staring at everything in shocked admiration.  "Mr. Reese?"

"What…?"  John waved his hands around as he made his way up the remarkably wide row, stopping to touch and linger on a variety of objects and weapons here and there.  "Harold?"

"Surprise?"  He smiled hopefully, trying not to be too proud about his accomplishment.

John stared at the shelves.  Everything was organized and cataloged neatly.  His fingers traced across several of the closest weapons, his senses more than familiar with each piece just from touch and smell.  

And the Dragon in him settled, knowing his hoard was secure.

Having his Mate there, surrounded by his stash, just made it all the more fulfilling.

"John, I _am_ truly sorry for not telling you."  Harold limped over to him, stopping just short, watching him intently as he kept looking at and touching things.  "I had only wanted to surprise you."

"Theoretically, I understood."  Reese focused on Finch, trying to put into words how his emotions had been warring inside him during those past few days.  "It made perfect sense, to consolidate the more important of my stashes.  There are still some around town that are for 'work' not 'play'."  He paused when he saw the 'Prince of Persia Dagger', and walked over to it, admiring the display, knowing full well his Mate had put a lot of effort into making everything presentable, instead of leaving it locked in dusty crates in a dark warehouse.  "There was a part of me that felt so out of control.  I've been hoarding since I was a kid.  Drove dad nuts, as many times his weapons disappeared."  Harold snorted softly, imagining that moment.  "To lose sight or control of the collection, was driving me to distraction.  I would not have had a problem destroying whole city blocks to find it.  I know it seems irrational, put it's part of being a Dragon."

"I should've told you."  Harold laid a hand on John's elbow, sighing with relief when his Mate turned around and pulled him into his arms.  "I didn't intend to make you uncomfortable, Mr. Reese.  I hadn't really understood the full effects of Dragon Hoarding."

"I didn't actually explain well it either," John muttered softly, relishing how it felt to have his Mate close to him again.  

He pulled back only slightly, to take Harold's mouth in a deep kiss.

Then his hands shifted, spinning the two of them around and pushing Finch up against the nearest hard surface.

Jackets dropped to the ground, followed quickly by shirts and vests.  Hands roamed over bare skin, pulling whines and moans from both of them, as they reconnected.  

John unhooked Harold's belt and pants, and slid down to his knees pulling the material with him.  With a tap to each foot, Harold lifted is feet so pants, boxers, and shoes could be added to the growing pile of clothes.

Reese let his hands say everything, moving up his Mate's legs, over his thighs, then cupping his ass, squeezing gently.  He looked up at Harold, giving him a wicked grin before taking his hard, leaking cock into his mouth, licking up the shaft, tongue sliding across the slit, before swallowing him down.  

Harold's hands gripped tight at the thick dark hair on his Dragon's head, and with a hoarse groan he came embarrassingly quickly.

John leaned back, licking his lips, smirking at his thoroughly debauched Mate.  Then standing up gracefully, he pulled a small tube of lube from his pocket and quickly added the rest of his clothes to the pile, before leaning down and kissing Harold again, his tongue sweeping through that familiar mouth, sharing the taste of his own essence.

With a moan, Harold simply clung to John as he was easily lifted up, showcasing the strength of the Dragon that lay hid within human flesh.  

He felt a finger slide into him easily, spreading him wide, and soon enough it was followed by two, and by the time there were three, he was moaning wantonly.  Three days away from John had been too long.  All he wanted was to reconnect, and he gripped his Dragon's shoulders all the more fiercely as that beautiful hard cock he knew so very well, slid solidly into him in one deep, hard thrust.

John adjusted his stance, taking Harold's full weight, not wanting the older man to strain his hip or neck.  Once he had him secure in his arms, he pulled out and thrust back into him, moaning harshly into his Mate's sweat soaked skin, knowing he wasn't going to last.  They’d been apart for too long.   He felt Harold's cock harden against his stomach, even as he fucked upward into him, burying himself in the engulfing heat of it all.  With a slight shift, he pushed in deeper, hitting that one spot, feeling Harold shiver against him.  

Once. 

Twice.  

Three times.

And as he slammed into him for the last time, so he bit down on his Mate's shoulder, coming hard.

For a few moments he panted against that soft, slick skin, nuzzling the mark he had made, then with a sigh he pulled back, letting Harold rest against the cool metal behind them, as they both got their overheated bodies back under control.

With gentle ease, he slid out and lowered his Mate carefully to the ground, grabbing his undershirt from the pile of clothes and wiping them both clean.

Harold smiled in contentment, and then frowned at feeling cold metal stick him in awkward places.  He took a step forward, then turned to see what was behind him, only to sigh and turn back around to glare at his Dragon.  

He couldn't believe he'd just gotten fucked up against the tank!

John chuckled and kissed him quickly, before stepping into the large open space at the side of the warehouse, and transforming into his Dragon shape.   

Harold laughed lightly and held out his palm, the large snout he knew so well, settling into it quickly as their own particular ritual played out between them.

He had finally settled on that specific warehouse as it was big enough to spread out the collection so his Dragon could freely move around the shelves and displays _as_ the Dragon, checking on his stash.

With a happy sigh and a sappy smile on his face, Harold picked up their discard clothes and made his way to the small living area.  With a cringe he dumped most of it into a dry cleaning bag, and pulled out fresh apparel for himself and Mr. Reese.   

Knowing his Dragon was likely to be occupied for some time, he made his way to the small bath and shower unit, washed up, dressed and finally settled on the couch, pulling out his laptop from his briefcase.

There were messages from The Machine.

He could tell it was working through John's reaction to the situation.  It didn't fit within normal human behaviors, and would be cataloged under Dragon behavior traits, but it still didn't understand.

It wasn’t like Harold could explain it though.

Hoarding in itself was an unnatural act.

It was also considered a psychological disorder, and mentally as well as physically unhealthy.

But it was quite normal for Dragons.

It would also be something to research and study as they met with other Dragons and Mates.

When he heard the crunch of bones, he knew John had found the meat locker.  It was the one thing Harold was absolutely adamant about - making sure his Dragon fed properly.  He'd just never realized how much energy John put out when transforming, let alone from doing his day job.  

In fact, Harold had noticed more and more lately, that John seemed fitter, his power and strength showing through in ways that made him increasingly alluring.

A well fed Dragon, was a happy Dragon indeed.

A few hours later John made his way over to the small living area, settling down, his head resting on the couch, his snout on Harold's lap.  "Everything is safe.  It's wonderful.  Thank you."

And in turn, Harold petted his Dragon's nose, giving him a few well-placed scritches.  "Always, Mr. Reese."

**~ London, England ~**

Benji stared at his computer.

He sat up and glanced around the room.

Then he focused back down at his computer.

He shifted in his seat before looking at his three siblings, who were all milling around the worktable, going over maps and information on their latest mission.

"No way.  No!"  Brandt stared at the other two of them.  "I'm not doing that again.  Just no.  I said I would seduce the next rich guy next time, and I'm good with that."

"Our mark isn't gay," Jane pointed out.

"Oh honey, by the time I get done, he'll at least be bi," William argued back.  "I do _not_ like enclosed spaces and you know it."

"I can always..."

"I am _not_ crawling through a sewer system to plant some bug Benji made, that may or may not work right."

"Aye!" Benji yelled across the room, insulted at the comment.  "My bugs are well trained!" he added.  "Which of you arses fiddled with my gear here?"

"We don't touch your tech."  Ethan glanced over at his sibling, frowning.

Jane shrugged, fidgeting slightly.  "Well, there was that _one_ time."

"Yeah, but he was drugged out of his mind, and trying to hack MI:6."  Brandt smirked, enjoying the memory, watching the smallest of their Dragon clutch hack the secret organization with nothing more than a Netbook.  "It was funny!  Mom was so pissed."

"I mean it guys!!" Benji argued back, his hands waving in irritation over his computer set up.  "This isn't cool.  I need this stuff to make sure you don’t get shot by an idiot lurking around the corner."

"Benji, you know we don’t mess with your gear.  Why are you even suggesting it?"  Ethan walked over to the youngest of them.   

They were an odd unit.  No one quite believed they were all hatched in the same clutch.  They all took unique human characteristics, and their natural Dragon forms were as far from each other as one could get.

Benji frowned and turned back to his computer, pointing at the screen with a rigid finger.  "These aren't from you?"

Ethan rested his hand on the chair and leaned over to read the scrolling text.

_'New York.  Dragon.  Help.'_

_'Dragons in danger.  New York.  Help.'_

_'Auxiliary Admin stated green light to contact you for help.'_

_'Need help.'_

_'New York.'_

"Who sent this?" Brandt asked, reading the series of messages, concern and dread starting to fill him.

"I have no idea.  I can't trace it.”  Benji paused for a moment, fingers moving swiftly across the keyboard.  “Well I can trace it to New York okay.  There though, it ends."

"Who's in New York?" Jane asked, trying to wrack her brain over which of the Dragons were in the city, and whether they'd had any contact with them.  "It could be a serious threat."

"Rumors have it lately that Connor recently arrived there," William answered.  "I got the information via Rome.  Altair was concerned enough to send him and Aveline."

"Concerned for what?  Is there a threat that needs to be taken out?"  Ethan frowned.  "Besides the Political Campaign?"

Benji snorted at that, then sobered.  "Wait…"  He pulled up a few new windows and began digging through government files.  "Grandpa mentioned a major leak in the CIA.  Something about an Agent who was hunting down her handlers.  It was tied to an op that went tits up in China.  It was all connected to a laptop…"

_'File eradicated.'_

"Okay, that was weird."  He typed a few more lines of code, trying to hack through the CIA firewall.

_'File eradicated.'_

"What the bloody hell?"  Benji growled, cracking his knuckles and diving into his keyboard only to have the computer screen black out.   He looked up in shock.  It wasn’t just the one he was working in front of, but all the screens in the room.

A box popped back on the biggest one in the middle of the main wall.

They all watched as some unseen hand typed a message.

_'File eradicated.  New York.  Dragon.  Help.’_

"You said Grandpa mentioned a CIA Agent?"  Brandt looked over at Ethan, scowling.  "He's not referring to John is he?"

_'John Reese.  Dragon.  New York.  Help.'_

"Who the hell hacked your system?"  Jane stared in awe.  Her sibling was damn good with computers, to the point where he had built their own servers and networks to make it easier to communicate when they worked jobs across agencies.

"I think we're going to New York."  Ethan looked at the others.  "Pack your gear.  We'll be on the plane in two hours."

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [Tumblr](http://nico-meridius.tumblr.com/) \- stop on by, check out the shinnies, ask some questions, follow my afternoon fics which usually inspiring new stories.
> 
> Interested in the bulk of my work in fanfiction: [Sylum Clan](https://www.sylumclan.com/sylumblog/welcome-to-sylum-clan/)
> 
> Please take a moment to check out my: [Published Fiction](https://www.nicholasjfinch.com)


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